A Faded Melody
by The Treacle Tart
Summary: Remus is haunted by a melody and the ghosts it brings with it. RL-NT COMPLETE.


**Summary: **_And that blasted song played on--louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else. Louder and louder, until he feared he would go deaf. Until he was sure it was all he would ever hear again._ Remus is haunted by a melody and the ghosts it brings with it.

**Author's notes:**. Many thanks to leftsockarchive for her help. Any remaining mistakes belong to me.

**A Faded Melody**

In the shadowed corner of some squalid bar, a warm drink clutched in his hand, and an old song repeating in an eternal loop in the recesses of his brain, Remus Lupin tried to forget. The song was one he'd forgotten the words to long ago-- the last remnants of his faded adolescence and of a piece of history lost in a sea of forgotten faces. He was alone, as he had been most of his life. But unlike previous nights where his isolation was an imposed one, this solitude was desired. Needed.

One hand remained firmly wrapped around his drink, a thumb slowly running up and down the side, striking a line through the condensation on the glass. His other hand glided slowly across the bar's counter, scrawling names in the dust. The tune ringing in his ears grew louder with each swipe of his fingers over the dingy bar, but the words were warbled as if being spoken underwater. Somewhere in the distance he heard a clock chime, signaling the end of one day and the beginning of the next. Several hours later, he woke to the sound of his own screaming.

Beads of sweat streamed down his shivering body. His hands were painfully balled, the bed sheets crushed beneath the white-knuckled grip. He didn't remember the dream, only that it was awash in the faces of the dead and a familiar haunting melody that wouldn't leave him in peace. He had no idea how he had got home or how he ended up in his bed. No memory, but a flash of long blue-black hair.

With thanks silently given to this mysterious guardian angel-- the one that always made sure he didn't end up on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ as a causality of his own stupidity, Remus got out of bed. He gracelessly walked across the room to the bath, hoping a cold shower would wash the tracing of days gone by from his consciousness.

The torrent of chilled water hit his skin and pricked it like a thousand pieces of ice. He remained motionless underneath the deluge, embracing the pain and letting it cover him, concentrating on the piercing sting of the rushing water against his clammy skin. With his eyes firmly shut, he dipped his head into the freezing spray. He let it fall forward as the water streamed down his face, strands of sodden hair pasted to his cheeks.

When he was saturated to the point of nearly drowning, he slumped down and sat back in the tub. The water was still running full blast but the stinging had passed. His body had adjusted to the icy temperatures, and the sweet pain that comforted him was lost.

The sun was due to rise soon; Remus knew sleep would not return. He dressed in his most faded jeans and warmest sweater and headed out. As he walked down the deserted street he began to hum. He could not fight the nameless song, so like many things in his life he simply accepted it. The odd tune drifted through the air as the first rays of morning cut through the horizon. As in countless other mornings, he found himself wandering with no location in mind. And like other mornings, no matter where his journey began, it always seemed to end at 12 Grimmauld Place.

It called to him, this house. Whispered promises of yesterday's dreams reached his ears no matter where his body had chosen to deposit itself. It beckoned him like a mythical siren leading sailors to their deaths, and like those sailors he followed because the promise of joy was often very nearly enough

Remus passed through the wards and found himself on the familiar doorstep of the deteriorating house; an oddly calm hand reached out and pulled a strip of peeling paint from the doorframe. He looked unblinkingly at the rusted hinges of the window shutters and the insistent ivy that had almost completely overrun the east side of the house. With a defeated sigh, he unlocked the door and walked inside.

With a quick tap of his wand, a row of torches came to life, lighting the path along the long corridor. He paused for a moment to lock the door behind him and reset the wards, then made his way down the hall. Remus whistled as he walked, and the tune that had haunted him for years filled the empty passageway, waking its only remaining resident.

"Who dares walks these halls!?" she screamed.

Remus stepped in front of her and offered a crooked smile and a bow of his head. "Good morning, Milady."

"You!" she shrieked. "Half-breed mongrel, unholy abomination!"

"Yes, good to see you too."

"Leave these halls at once, you Mudblood-loving filth!"

"In time," he said as he sat down on the dusty floor, his back to the wall across from the screaming portrait of the Black matriarch. "How are things on your side of the canvas?"

"You dare be flippant with me, in my own home, you revolting half-blood beast," she growled.

Remus just looked at her and smiled. "Don't you ever tire of it?"

"Leave at once!"

"In time," he repeated. He lifted his knees up and let his head lean against the cold stone wall. He closed his eyes. "You lost, you know."

"Lost what?" she demanded.

"The battle for pureblood supremacy. The war of Light and Dark. The crusade against Mudblood lovers, half-breeds, and unholy abominations. It ended three years ago today."

"Are you here to tell me you won?"

"No one won," he murmured.

"And my treacherous wastrel of a son? What of him?"

"Dead," he said plainly. "Five years ago, almost to the day."

She seemed genuinely confused. "So why are you here?"

He opened his eyes and stared at her, his head cocked to the side as if he wasn't sure how to answer that question. "To say goodbye."

"To me?" she asked incredulously.

"To everything," he said wistfully.

"Are you inebriated?"

Remus laughed. "Tried that. Yesterday. But, somehow, it didn't work. It wasn't enough. Nothing's ever enough. I realized only moments ago when I was standing outside that door that there was only one way to truly forget."

"What are you babbling about?"

His eyes narrowed. "You've never been alive," he began. "You don't feel anything. You're nothing but bits of paint on canvas holding a memory. But as trapped as you are in the prejudices of that horrid woman whose image you have the misfortune to possess, I still envy you."

"I've had enough of your prattling. Leave at once," she demanded again.

"I can leave this place no more than you can. We are both trapped here." He went silent and closed his eyes, concentrating on the lingering tune that echoed in his head for what he hoped was the last time.

"Farewell, Mrs. Black," he said softly before raising his wand. "Incendio."

He curled up in a ball and listened contentedly as Mrs. Black's screams and the crackling of flames against rotting wood filled his ears and drowned out the melody for the first time in years.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the pain. Agonizing pain ripped through every inch of his skin with every breath he had the audacity to take. He was alive. Damn it, he was alive.

"Don't move, Remus," said a distant voice, familiar and very nearly home.

He wanted to answer, to cry, to scream, but the pain was too great and his strength too fleeting. Instead he gave in to the oblivion that called him.

He was told three weeks had passed while he slept. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours. Thousands of minutes spent in blissful nothingness. It all ended when he opened his eyes and saw the disapproving face of Minerva McGonagall. He tried to open his mouth but found that, save for his eyes, he couldn't move.

"Don't bother," she said sternly. "You're under a full body bind and will be for some time until you can heal properly." Her eyes began to glisten, but her nostrils flared and Remus knew he was in for a lecture. "Do you have any idea what you've put us through? Don't you think we've all suffered enough? Enough loss and enough death? Of all the idiotic things I have seen in my life, this was the most thoughtless. Mr. Potter was frantic; he needed to be sedated."

She paused to catch her breath. Remus watched as a single tear slowly trailed down her cheek. "Rather than do something so incredibly stupid," she continued, "did it ever occur to you to reach out to someone? That there were people who cared about you? Who would be terribly hurt if something happened to you, let alone by your own hand?"

He supposed she was right and that he should have felt guilty for what he'd tried instead of feeling disappointed that it didn't work, but he had neither the energy nor the inclination to think on it further. With the little strength he possessed, he tried to blink at her, figuring she would take it for either an apology or at least an acknowledgement that he understood what she was trying to tell him.

"Don't move," she said, her grave veneer firmly back in place. "You need to rest." She lifted her wand and uttered an incantation that was unfamiliar to Remus. Soon the world began to cloud over and dissolve. The sound of quiet sobbing lulled him to sleep.

It was another month before he was able to sit up and eat on his own. In that time he enjoyed the emptiness of dreamless sleep. He knew he was nearly back to normal when he heard the first few notes of the wordless tune that followed him wherever he went.

His recovery was a slow process which he was almost certain was a special request by the Headmistress of Hogwarts. It was almost comical to him how they kept finding excuses to keep him locked away in the infirmary. But the point came when he was able to leave. He dressed slowly and waited, knowing that he would have a special visitor before he was discharged. Sure enough, there was an insistent knock on the door.

"Come in, Minerva," he called softly.

"Good Morning, Remus," she replied as she crossed the doorway. "I take it that you're ready to leave."

"Yes."

With nothing more to offer, he continued to gather his things: gifts from well wishers, cards, letters… He was aware of Minerva standing behind him; the heel of her boot was clicking on the tile floor and her breathing was shallow and irregular. She was waiting and so was Remus.

"Aren't you ever going to ask?" she said, somewhat impatiently.

"Ask what?"

"How we found you? How you ended up here? How you survived?"

Remus continued to pack. "I already know."

"Well then, can you enlighten me? Because I haven't got a clue. Someone tripped the wards. We went to investigate and found the place nearly leveled to ash, and you lying badly burned and almost dead on the front lawn. When we investigated, we found that you had entered some time earlier and the wards were tripped by the person who got you out. We have no idea how he or she was able to bypass the protection on the house."

"Don't you?"

Minerva pursed her lips and remained quiet.

"Who knew the location of the house?" he asked. "Who knew how to get inside? Who would want me to be safe?"

The silence stretched between them. Remus dared her to say what he knew she would.

"He's dead, Remus," she said softly. "Sirius is dead."

Remus turned to her. "I know. But dead doesn't mean gone. And someone pulled me out, but somehow needed no Healer." Without another word, he walked out the infirmary doors. He left the box of his belongings on the bed.

Since the fire Remus was hard-pressed to find any time alone. Harry practically moved in to his small cottage, and despite the persistent pain left over from the vicious hex that nearly lost him his leg, he managed to follow Remus around wherever he went. Remus couldn't blame Harry for his fervent behavior. He had already lost so much. Bits and pieces of his life had been chipped away from the time he was an infant until he was as fragile as a house of cards, easily torn asunder by wind or whisper. But his continued presence in Remus's home was a constant reminder of the failures of the past-- the failures that haunted Remus's dreams. The failures that sang their wordless melody to his bleeding ears and would not leave him in peace.

Harry loved Remus, that much was clear. Remus understood that Harry had so few people in his life that he trusted, fewer that he considered family. Remus fell into both those categories and while part of him was honored that the son of his dearest friends would adopt him as a surrogate father, another part of him was unprepared for the responsibility that entailed.

It grew to be too much for Remus. He had spent a lifetime caring for himself; the notion that he was accountable for another's happiness weighed too heavily on his slender shoulders. The war was over. There was no cause to fight for, only the day-to-day survival of a world drenched in shadows.

In the hours before the dawn, while Harry slept soundly on the lumpy sofa in the parlor, Remus walked out the door and into the darkness of night. He closed the door softly behind him so that the clicking of the lock was nearly inaudible. His hand still cradling the latch, he rested his head on the door and muttered his apologies into the cold and biting air. It was then that he turned and prepared to wander with no location in mind as was his custom over the last few years. He froze as his amber eyes locked with a familiar pair of grey ones.

He thought he heard a dog barking just before the world went black.

Remus's eyes fluttered open and squinted against the brightness of an overhead light. It took a moment for him to discern where he was. The hard stone of the cold front steps was replaced by the familiar comfort of his bed, and the warmth of several blankets. He found himself propped up by an inordinate number of pillows.

"Finally awake." Harry was standing nearby, leaning against the wall, probably to alleviate some of the pressure on his bad leg.

"What—" Remus began, his voice cracked and dry. "What happened?"

"You tell me. I wake up and you're gone. I rush out the front door only to stumble on your unconscious body." Any pretense of understanding was missing from Harry's voice. All that remained was anger—very nearly hatred. "Where were you going?"

"Harry, please--"

"Please what? Please understand? Understand what? Why you keep running away? Why you nearly killed yourself? Why it never seems to occur to you to say goodbye? You're not the only one who lost friends, Remus. You're not the only one who is having a hard time moving on. Do you think a day passes when I don't think of Luna or Neville or Hannah or Colin or any of the others I watched die?"

Harry paused and closed his eyes before he started talking again. Though the hatred seemed to fade, the anger did not. "Do you think you're the only one who misses Sirius? Or my parents for that matter? Do you realize you're the only family I have left?"

He stopped and ran his hand through his unruly hair. "I'm trying, Remus. I'm trying to have enough strength for the both of us, but I can't anymore. I'm trying to get on with my life and I'd like you to be a part of that, but I can't fight any longer. If you don't want my help I can't force it on you. But I also can't sit back and watch you fall apart. It's too hard. Go wherever it is you need to go. I can't follow you anymore."

Remus watched as Harry quietly limped away. He listened as the uneven steps of Harry's gait echoed throughout house, until it faded away in the distance. And while part of him wanted to run after Harry, to promise he would try, for Harry's sake if no one else's, he couldn't. For what ever else was going on in the world at that moment, nothing could erase the last image he saw before the blackness overcame him. And it was that image that paralyzed him.

Sharp grey eyes. Long black hair. And a small smile touched with just a hint of haughtiness.

It was the guardian angel that saw him safely home after Remus's drinking binges-- the one that tucked him into the comfort of his bed time and time again. The one that made sure he harmed no one, including himself, when sadness and rage seemed to be his only company. The one that risked fire to save his life.

It was his friend.

It was the friend he had failed to defend when he was sent to prison without a trial, who Remus allowed to rot in a prison for twelve years. He didn't even attempt to contact him for a year, even after his innocence was proven, because the guilt of his own indifference was too strong. Remus had failed to save him as he was engulfed by a veil that led to nothingness.

This was the friend for whom the phantom melody sang his misery, every day for the past five years.

Remus saw Sirius, standing in the thick cluster of trees. Watching and waiting. Sirius, looking as he had during his youth, during those blessed days at Hogwarts when they sat on the grass and dreamed of other places and other days. When the future seemed boundless, when he was happy. And as Remus remembered that face and the grass and the time before it all fell apart, his heart bled in his chest, ripped apart by guilt and shame and loss.

He was drowning; he was sure of it. He was suffocating under the weight of a lifetime of cowardice and apathy and a thousand mistakes that could never be fixed. He had failed James and Lily, and Sirius. Probably Peter as well. And now he was failing Harry.

And that blasted song played on--louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else. Louder and louder, until he feared he would go deaf. Until he was sure it was all he would ever hear again. He raised his hands to his ears and covered them, his fingernails clawing into his scalp hoping for silence or tear his ears off in the trying. He began to gasp for air, to cry out, as his trembling body rocked back and forth.

It was a hand on his shoulder that made him stop. It steadied him. It silenced him.

He froze, too terrified to move, until an eerily familiar voice spoke: "Hush, Remus. It's all right. I promise you, it's all right."

Slowly, so very slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up into the face of the past he wanted so badly to forget. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly collapsed into himself until the specter spoke again. "I'm sorry Remus, I'm so sorry. I thought I was helping."

Then, with the last words spoken still swirling in the air around him, he watched as the long black hair shortened and became pink, as the grey eyes turned violet, as the tall frame shrank into a slight, slender one. In a matter of seconds, Sirius Black vanished. Again.

"Nymphadora?"

"T-Tonks," she stammered, almost too quietly to be audible, her head down as if unable to meet his gaze.

"What's…Why?"

She slowly lifted her head until she was looking into his eyes. There was an uneasiness that seemed misplaced on the normally audacious Auror-- a sadness that clashed badly with her colorful hair and vibrant eyes. He doubted either had much to do with being discovered.

"You've been hurting for so long," she began. "I wanted to help. I didn't think you'd like the idea of me following you around, but I thought… I thought you wouldn't mind if you thought it was Sirius. That he was back, somehow, and looking out for you."

"How did you come out of the fire unhurt?"

"I didn't. Aurors have to be able to cure themselves if they get caught on the field with no access to a Healer. And I wasn't that badly hurt." She sounded almost embarrassed at the admission.

He didn't really know what else to say. She was right; he would have been angry if he knew that she was following him. But some part of him did want to think that Sirius had come back to look out for him. That despite everything that had transpired in their lifetime, there could still be this connection between them. It felt like… forgiveness.

Remus didn't know how much time had passed as he sat there and thought and thought, until

a quivering voice asked, "Do you hate me?"

He looked up at her eyes and at the tears that threatened to fall. "No," he answered honestly. "How could I?" He lay back down on the bed, as the exhaustion crashed over his body. "What I hate is that you felt you needed to do it," he continued. "To follow me around and make sure I didn't do something foolish and to masquerade as a dead man because you felt I wouldn't accept your help otherwise. I'm sorry, Tonks. I'm sorry for so much."

"God Remus, stop talking like that." She sat down on the bed next to him and placed a tentative hand on his. "There's nothing to be sorry for. We all need to grieve in our own way. Some of us just have more to grieve for. Besides, my motives aren't entirely altruistic. I did it because I wanted to. Watching you had become a habit for me. I was doing it since we first met at Grimmauld Place. Even after the end of the war, I wasn't ready to give it up. Putting on Sirius's face seemed the best way not only to comfort you from a distance, but to protect myself. To hide, I suppose."

He looked at her with his brow deeply creased, feeling as though he kept missing important bits of information only to hear them played back in his head minutes later. "You watched me?"

She blushed as she took her hand away and quickly got up off the bed. "I did. I was. But I can't any more. I thought I was protecting you. But instead all I seem to be doing is allowing you to hold onto the past. You've got to move on, Remus. You've got to stop punishing yourself for things that happened so long ago, things that can't be changed no matter how much we wish it so."

Remus watched as she stood a bit straighter and squared her shoulders. "You survived Remus, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. It would be insulting to those who died to have you waste that gift. It would be selfish and cruel to those who care about you. None of us wants to watch you suffer and die slowly.

"Everyone is still healing. It's not easy on any of us. And we've all got ghosts that follow us around. But they're only ghosts. The world is also full of living, breathing people, and they need you. Whether you like it or not, McGonagall thinks of you as a son. Harry as a father. And I… I…"

She made to move forward but hesitated briefly before finally walking nearer. Her eyes stayed focused on his as she strode, chewing on her lower lip along the way. Saying nothing, she leaned down and gently placed her lips on his. He thought he would shatter from the tenderness of it, of this girl, this lovely girl, kissing him.

When she broke away he noticed that tears that had pooled in her violet eyes had fallen. He could taste the bitter salt on his lips. A small hand cupped his chin. "Goodbye." And with a rush, she flew out the door.

He sat stone still, tears welling up in his own eyes and his lips tingling from where she had kissed him. In an instant, images from his life flashed before his eyes like a silent Muggle film set to the tune of an old song-- those faces of the past that dwelt behind his eyelids each night. And as he watched the faces pass, he apologized to each one…and he said goodbye.

Several hours later, he found himself standing in front of Harry's door.

* * *

It was nearly four months later that he found himself sitting by a fire, a chubby red-headed baby sleeping in his arms.

"Remus, you don't have to hold her while she sleeps," Hermione said amusedly as she held a two year old boy who was tugging at her hair.

"I don't mind," he said softly as Hermione took little William to his room for a nap. Remus couldn't take his eyes away from the tiny child that lay blissfully asleep in his arms. His godchild. He had spent so much time immersed in death that he forgot the simple pleasures of life. Of rebirth and renewal. He hardly noticed the sound of the front door opening and the clacking of heavy boots in the corridor leading to the parlor.

"Where's the little lady? Auntie Tonks has a few gifts. Oh—"

Remus looked up to the startled face of Tonks. "I'm sorry," she began. "I didn't know… I didn't know you were here."

"They've been hard-pressed to get rid of me. I seem to have a hard time letting her go," he said smiling. "Would you like to hold her?"

"Er, yeah. Sure." She seemed surprised. Whether it was from his demeanor, or the idea of holding a newborn baby, Remus couldn't be certain. Either way, it made him smile. Her hair was yellow today -- not blonde, but bright daisy yellow -- and her eyes were green. As if she could sense his eyes on her, she began to blush.

"How…how are you?" she asked.

"Good, actually," He was surprised to find he had meant it.

"Tonks!" Hermione entered and walked over to give her friend a hug. "How are you?"

"Good…actually," she replied, her eyes quickly flicking over to Remus. Little Alexandra began to squirm in her arms and was soon crying. Tonks's eyes shot open in alarm. "Oh hell, I think I broke her."

Hermione laughed heartily as she took the crying child from the rather frightened Auror. "She's fine Tonks, just hungry. She's her father's daughter, and as such, is always hungry. Why don't you two make yourselves at home. There's pumpkin juice and sandwiches in the kitchen. Help yourselves while I take care of the little one.

Remus couldn't resist giving Alexandra a quick kiss before letting Hermione take her away.

"She's got you wrapped around her finger and she's barely a month old," Tonks teased.

"That she does," he admitted.

Though Tonks had relaxed a bit, she still looked nervous. "I hear… I heard you've been busy," she said as they made their way to the kitchen.

"Yes. I have been. I've moved in with Harry. It seemed to be the best move for both of us. Hermione has enlisted me in her crusade for new legislation in the treatment of werewolves and other non-human entities. She's a formidable supervisor, and not a little bit frightening." He smiled at Tonks's small laugh. "Minerva has asked me to teach again, though I'm not quite certain I'm up to the task yet. I also made the mistake of beating Alexandra's father at chess once, which means open warfare whenever he can corner me into it."

Tonks's eyes began to glisten. Remus got the odd feeling she was proud of him, and that thought warmed him. "Care to eat outside?" he suggested. "It's rather a lovely day."

She nodded silently and followed him outside. They picked a spot on the grass, under a tree that Hermione had charmed to be in perpetual bloom. Remus offered Tonks a sandwich, but otherwise remained quiet as they ate. It was some time later that she broke the silence.

"I'm glad," she said suddenly. "I'm really happy everything worked out. You seem… you seem like your old self."

"No," he said thoughtfully. "No, I'm not like my old self. I don't really know who that is anymore. But I decided that really doesn't matter because… because it doesn't do to try to recreate the past. That, perhaps, one needs to look to the future, to things that can still be influenced."

"That's a good philosophy."

"A very wise friend taught me that."

She blushed again and Remus couldn't help but reach out and run a knuckle down the reddened cheek. "You never let me thank you. I still have a long way to go, but I wouldn't have made it this far if you hadn't been there. I would have kept running to a place that didn't exist, hurting everyone around me."

"Remus," she began, her voice trembling. "I didn't do anything—"

"Nymphadora, you did more for me than you could possibly imagine. But let's not dwell in the past. Let's look towards tomorrow." With that toast to the future, he held his glass out.

She gently clinked her glass to his. "It's Tonks. And what happens tomorrow?"

"You let me take you out to dinner."

She laughed, and when she saw he wasn't laughing back, her face got gravely serious. "You mean… You mean like a date?"

"Yes," he said, sounding almost surprised. "Yes, like a date."

"Er…Okay." Her cheeks were now bright red and Remus had to stop himself from kissing her.

Remus offered his hand to help her up. She took it, and didn't let go. Fingers intertwined, they made their way back to the house.

Remus paused at the door, noticing something for the first time. "Wait. Listen. Do you hear it?"

Tonks waited a few moments and then shook her head. "I don't hear a thing."

"Neither do I," he said with a smile. "Neither do I."

Finis


End file.
